Fggot gun
by gonattsaga
Summary: "I call it my f*ggot gun. It's only good for a couple of shots, then you have to drop it for something better…" taking precautions with the title and summary, I published a story years ago with the word B*tch in the title and they deleted my account


-1Title: Faggot gun.

Author: gonattsaga

Fandom: Kiss kiss bang bang

Pairing: Harry/Perry

Rating: PG for swearing and m/m but no actual sex

Genre: Romance

Summary: _"I call it my faggot gun. It's only good for a couple of shots, then you have to drop it for something better…_"

When I blink my eyes open a blurry bedside table hovers in front of me. I can just make out the numbers on the clock radio and it's too fucking early to be awake. Something clearly woke me up. I try to remember what, thinking it couldn't have been a noise since the room is quiet, too quiet even. I turn my head and peer over at the other side of the bed. It's empty.

There's a _whoosh_ from the adjoining bathroom, the shower curtain being drawn aside. That's what woke me up, the shower turning off. I turn over to my side and push my face into the pillow. It smells nice. It's clean. But besides that, it smells really nice. Sort of smells like Perry. I wonder if he usually sleeps on this side of the bed, or if it's his laundry detergent. Is it weird that I should even know what Perry smells like? I mean, even before last night I did, and before last night we weren't, well, anything, well we were partners, as in co-workers, and friends too I suppose. But even so, I shouldn't know what the guy smells like. And I definitely shouldn't think of it as a really nice smell.

"It's my faggot gun", Perry said when we were on that first stake-out together.

We barely even knew each other then, had just met, at that party at Harland Dexter's. I thought he was so cool. And somewhat scary, too. I guess I still do. Cool, scary and nice-smelling. And… sexy. I guess. Okay, yeah. Really sexy. I know, it threw me for a loop too, although looking back, I guess the whole smell thing should have been a giveaway.

It's funny, though. Out of all the things Perry and I have been through together these past two years, and then everything that happened last night, all I can think about now is that "faggot gun".

Do you remember why he called it that?

"Because it's only good for a couple of shots and then you have to drop it for something better."

That's what he said. Word for word. And as I lie here, in his bed, listening to him moving around in the bathroom, you know, bare feet against wet tiles, palm wiping across the mirror, tap running in the sink, toothbrush scraping against teeth, I try and fail miserably to not wonder wether or not I'm a faggot gun.

The tap starts running again. And then it's turned off once more. His feet pad across the tiled bathroom floor, go quiet as he reaches the mat, and then start up again but more softly as he crosses the threshold and come back into the bedroom.

It's not until the footsteps slow down and Perry carefully and quietly move around the bed to his side and slip back under the covers that I realize I shut my eyes again as he entered the room. It's not like I pretended to sleep on purpose. I wasn't even aware of it at first.

I can feel his body heat, but he doesn't move close enough to touch. I don't know what I was expecting. It's not like I ever took Perry for a cuddler, and it's not like I'm much into spooning myself, but the word "faggot gun" keep echoing in my head and I feel a sense of dread building like a pile of rocks in my belly.

He moves, settles in, inching himself slightly closer, but still not touching me. Although when he breathes out the air hits me in the back of the neck. Warm.

Now, I realize this is a ridiculous move even as I make it, but I do anyway, because I can't help myself, because the air is thick with this nice Perry smell and his breath is warm and comforting and his body is _just there_ and still too far away, and all that other typical, sappy stuff.

So what I do is I inhale, sleepily right, and turn onto my back, arching, yawning, turning my head in his direction, in my sleep right, and I even make a show of rubbing my eyes as I "wake up". But as I squint them open, I can see that Perry is watching me, and smiling. I try to "stay in character" as they call it, but can feel my cheeks heat up and give me away instantly.

Perry snorts, the smile turning smug.

"Thought you were an actor", he says.

"I'm a lot of things", I tell him, my voice scratchy from sleep and too many cigarettes last night, not to mention drink.

I'm about to clear my throat, but then I notice Perry's eyes glazing over, and dropping to my mouth, like he's horny as hell and can't wait to kiss me. My cheeks heat up even more, and I should feel silly, really silly, lying here like a blushing little school girl. But Perry's gaze is roaming all over me like he's mentally undressing me only I'm already as undressed as I could be besides the covers. His Adam's apple bobs and he licks his lips. He looks at me like I'm the hottest thing in town and at the same time like he can't believe he thinks so. Neither can I.

"I'm starting to realize that", he says. Now his voice is all gravelly. I mean, more so than usual.

"So", I say. Because I don't know what else _to_ say. His gaze flickers to my eyes, the focus returning somewhat, like he only just realized who was in bed with him. _Faggot gun_.

"Oh no", he murmurs.

"What", I say, or squeak probably, but we'll put it down as a manly whisper.

"You're not gonna freak out, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

He rolls over onto his back and sighs.

"Oh you know, wild eyes, flopping jazz hands and '_I'm not a queer! I swear! I just had too much to drink!'_ 'cause if you _are_, could you save it for when you've left my place so I don't have to deal with it, I'm hungover…"

The pile of rocks in my belly grow heavier. Perry puts a hand over his eyes and looks like he's about to go back to sleep, and just like that I go from the hottest thing in town to same old _stupid_ Harry.

"You want me to leave?" I ask him.

He takes forever to answer. Or maybe he just takes a deep breath, but it feels like forever.

"If you're about to freak out I do", he replies.

"I'm not gonna freak out."

The hand drops away from his face, and he turns his head to look at me, but it isn't a glazed or even heated look, it's tired, normal. Like he always looks at me, like he's looked at me since that first night we met and up until last night. The weary and slightly unbelieving _Did your mummy drop you on your head?_ look, reserved only for me, lucky me, Harold the great, Harry the clumsy thief, the failed actor, the inexperienced investigator, the stupid punk, the _faggot gun_.

I turn over to my side again. Back to Perry. I know. It's a bit _made for TV drama_ of me, but I just want to curl up and go to sleep for the rest of my life and I can't very well curl into Perry's side, so obviously I have to turn my back to him.

"No?"

And it's not like I expect him to roll over with me, or even put a comforting hand on my shoulder, or anything. I just want to sleep. Forget the whole thing.

"And why not?"

He does turn over, though. And moves close to me, and again I feel his breath against the back of my neck. Talk about stupid déjà vu. If I try hard enough maybe I'll be able to convince myself I never rolled over the first time, that I just dreamt the whole conversation and the heated look in Perry's eyes that cooled down.

"Hey…"

"What, I'm trying to go back to sleep. I'm hungover too, you know."

"Right…"

"Not that I was _that_ drunk last night, like I didn't know what I was doing and now I'm regretting it and _freaking out_…"

"Okay."

"Just a regular hangover."

"Okay."

We lie quietly for a while. I don't fall back to sleep. In fact I'm not even tired anymore. And by the sound of Perry's breathing I'd say he's awake too, not that I'd know how he breathes when he's asleep, I'm just guessing it'd be less, you know, shallow. It'd be deeper. Maybe he'd snore. I wouldn't know, because I've only ever shared a bed with him once and I fell asleep before him last night. At least I think I did, I just remember having the most powerful orgasm ever and dozing off almost immediately, and he was still breathing heavily next to me when I did.

"Listen…" he says mumbles suddenly. Then he stops.

I prick up my ears, but no, he's definitely decided not to continue. I huff. But he still doesn't go on, so I hum, and then he clears his throat, but he doesn't say anything.

"What", I hiss.

"I'm… umm, you know…"

"What."

"I'm… sorry. I ehh… I guess I'm jaded. I've had my share of closet cases blow up in my face and I just… well, I didn't want that to happen with you… I'm, I'm glad… that you're not freaking out… Harry."

"Yeah well…"

"Are you really going back to sleep?"

"Probably not since you keep talking to me."

"Right. I'll shut up."

But of course I don't want him to shut up. I'm just being difficult. In fact, Perry talking to me like he would any other grown up human being, in of itself is rare, usually he's ordering me around or calling me names, but him saying he's sorry, now that I don't think has ever happened before at all. So, no, I really don't want him to shut up. I turn to my back again. He's looking at me. Not like I'm the hottest thing in town, but kindly, I suppose, which is better than the _You're so stupid_ look.

"Sorry", I mutter half-heartedly. "I don't want you to."

"You don't want me to what?"

"Shut up. I don't want you to. I want to talk."

"Alright. What do you want to talk about."

"I don't know, you tell me, I'm new to this game."

"This game?"

"You know, pillow talk, whatever, I don't know what to say, you talk."

"You're… not… telling me… you were a… virgin, are you Harry?"

"What! No! No, no! Just, you know, with opposite gendered persons, not with…"

Perry huffs.

"Yeah, I got _that_, but in case you missed it, the actual sex part is already covered, the rest shouldn't be much different from what you're used to… well, slight variations, probably… but it's me, Harry, it's you and it's me, we know each other, we talk all the time…"

"Idontwannabeafaggotgun…"

"What?"

I take a deep breath. I'm going to regret saying this, I just know I am. But I have to.

"I don't want to be a… a faggo-"

He bolts upright before I have a chance to even finish and he swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits there with his back to me. His naked, muscled back. Shoulders hunching a bit, tight with tension.

"Oh, for fuck's sake Harry, I told you, I don't want to have to deal with any freak-outs, not from you, alright!"

"A faggot _gun_!"

"A _what_?"

He twists his body and half turns toward me. Glaring. This I am used to.

"Remember when we were on that stake-out at the lake where we found the dead girl?"

"What dead girl?"

"Wha- the dead girl, in the lake, Harland Dexter's daughter, remember?"

"Dead girl in the lake, what are you talking about-"

"The girl in the lake, with no panties on, from the mental-"

"Of course I fucking remember!"

"…Oh. Well, remember your gun?"

"You mean the pistol my mother gave me as a present that you threw in the lake?"

"…Yeah. You said you called it your faggot gun because it's only good for a few shots and then you have to drop it and find someone better and I don't want to be like that gun I don't want you to find someone better and drop me."

"Oh."

There I said it. Now I know it won't make any difference, it never does, Perry always does what pleases him anyway, if he even bothers to listen to me in the first place.

"Do you want to get some breakfast?"

"What, out?"

"Yeah."

"You and me?"

"Yes, Harry. You and me. Having breakfast together. Out."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure. We can do that."

"Shower first. And I put out a tooth brush for you, it's on sink, the blue one, not the green one in the cup, and what size are you?"

"Huh?"

"Pants. What size? Never mind. Go clean up. I'll find something that fits you. Go!"


End file.
